


Roger Rabbit and the Ink Machine

by thesilverdreamer



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Mystery, final chapter count subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-05-10 07:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14732325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverdreamer/pseuds/thesilverdreamer
Summary: New York City, 1948. Alice Angel has gone missing. The NYPD laughed at the prospect of a Missing Toon Report, and nobody wants anything to do with Toons. Desperate, Joey turns to Eddie Valiant, the Detective Who Works for Toons. A few months out from the Marvin Acme case, Eddie quickly realizes that something funny is going on at Joey Drew Studios, and he aims to find out what.





	1. This Studio is Not OSHA-Compliant

**From the Case Files of George K. Fowler, Office of Extranormal Affairs**

_June, 1947: Marvin Acme, acclaimed comedian, industrialist, and the creator of Toontown, is found dead, apparently murdered by one of the very same Toons he had been supporting for almost two decades. Maroon Cartoon’s Roger Rabbit is believed to have killed him in a fit of jealous rage after learning that his wife, Jessica Rabbit, was having an emotional affair with Acme. Detective Eddie Valiant, of Valiant & Valiant, uncovers the truth: Judge Doom of the Los Angeles Circuit killed Acme and framed Roger to gain control of Toontown. Acme’s will is found, bequeathing Toontown to the Toons. Valiant begins helping Toons again after several years’ lapse, and Roger Rabbit signs a contract with Walt Disney Productions to have his own cartoon._

**_New York City, 1948_ **

Joey Drew was either out of his mind or an idiot to fly a detective from LA to New York. Eddie Valiant wasn’t complaining, his plane ticket, lodging, and time were being paid for in advance by Drew Studios, plus the job itself. (Alright, so he was complaining a little, but odds were good that this would be a simple missing toon case the NYPD wasn’t taking seriously, worse case scenario he got to see the Statue of Liberty. He was, after, all, the shmuck who agreed to come out here.)

Drew Studios was smack dab in Manhattan, at Broadway and 3rd Avenue. The building was unimpressive, but apparently it had several basement floors. Joey Drew had a reputation for being a little peculiar, even for a man who worked in cartoons. The front face of the building was dominated by a colorful sign reading, ‘JOEY DREW STUDIOS.’

Eddie breathed a long-suffering sigh, hefted his travel bag over his shoulder, and pushed through the revolving door.

The studio was alive with the sound of creators at work, and it almost sounded like home. The entrance hall had posters all the way down showing some of the characters in Drew Studios’ cartoons. Boris the Wolf (less villainous, more hungry), the Butcher Gang (a recurring group of bad guys made up of Charley, Barley, and Edgar), Alice Angel (her mediocre debut was followed up by the fantastic ‘Hell or High Water’ and her popularity exploded), and of course, studio mascot Bendy the Dancing Demon. Bendy was the big star, and had been ever since Drew Studios started getting some recognition back in ’35.

The hall opened into a lobby, and an inter-office courier nearly ran into Eddie, gave a half-hearted apology, and kept on going. There were a couple of young men bickering off to the side, and a projector played an old Bendy cartoon on a screen at the back wall.

A woman wearing a knee-length checkered skirt and red lipstick approached Eddie as he took the scene in. “Can I help you, sir?” she said. She had a distinct Jersey accent.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Drew?” he said. The secretary, probably, consulted her clipboard and asked for his name. “Valiant.”

“Hm, I’m not seeing—”

A sharp whistle cut across the lobby, and a man who definitely wasn’t Joey Drew but still seemed kind of familiar strode across the room, up to Eddie and the secretary. “It’s fine, Sherry, we’re expecting Mr. Valiant,” he said. He was distinctly short, white, and slim. He looked young, without a trace of gray in his hair, and had a very thin pencil mustache. He was dressed professionally, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie was thrown over his shoulder to keep it clean. There were dark spots under his eyes.

“Alright, Mr. Hoskins,” Sherry said, and quietly made a gesture like adjusting her collar; he picked up on her meaning and quickly sorted out his tie.

Sherry fluttered away, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and Eddie forced himself to look in any other direction. “So, uh, Mr. Hoskins?”

“Please, just call me Henry.” Henry Hoskins, now that was a name that Eddie recognized from his research. Cofounder of Drew Studios, head animator for what little traditional animation they still produced. Despite his significance in the studio’s history, he stayed out of the public eye, especially compared to Drew. “Pleasure, Mr. Valiant, I’m the lead artist here.” Henry held out his hand for Eddie to shake.

‘Lead artist’ was a roundabout way of alluding to Henry’s bigger role; he was one of those rare gifted people who possessed the power to literally bring their art to life. Some called them, ‘Old Men,’ after Disney’s Nine Old Men, who had that power to a man.

Eddie shook Henry’s hand. “Eddie Valiant.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s many people in this industry who haven’t heard of you after last summer,” Henry said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, at any rate, I’d like to talk somewhere a little more private. We’re trying to keep things quiet as long as possible.”

He led Eddie down the left wing to what was presumably Henry’s office, surprisingly small for one of the studio’s founders. There was an ordinary desk and chair, along with a light table that had been in use recently. He probably didn’t have people in his office very often, judging by how the desk and chairs were piled high with papers. As Henry moved a heavy-looking binder off of a chair, Eddie looked around a little.

Framed art covered the walls, but especially over the light table. There were character model sheets, concept art, a few posters. Some photographs had been pinned up. There was one of Henry and another man, at least a few years younger. Another was clearly a wedding portrait, showing Henry and a pretty woman with dark hair. Eddie checked surreptitiously to confirm that yes, Henry was wearing a wedding band.

Then there was another photo, this one of a little girl who couldn’t have been older than five, and right next to that photo was a child’s drawing of Bendy done in crayon.

“Your daughter?” Eddie said.

Henry swung his head around to see what Eddie was referring to, and broke into a smile. “Yeah, my little girl. Beth just turned six. Do you have any children, Mr. Valiant?”

Eddie shook his head emphatically. “No, no no, that life ain’t for me.”

“Well, it isn’t easy, I’ll say that much, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Then again, if even half of what the papers say is true, you’ve taken on some work far more difficult than raising a child.” Henry threw his hands up as the mess defeated him. “Bah. I’m sorry Joey didn’t come meet you himself, he’s scatter-brained at the best of times. I—what in the world is that noise?”

There was some kind of rustling noise coming from the coat closet. Eddie was closer, so he pulled the door open, and a puny cartoon devil came tumbling out, dramatically gasping for air.

“I thought I was a goner!” Bendy wheezed. “It smells like a sewer in there!”

“Bendy!” Henry snapped, but he didn’t look all that bothered by it, smiling as he spoke. “How long have you been in there?”

“Uh…what day is it?”

“Same as when I saw you this morning. Why aren’t you on set?”

“Cause they’re still cleanin’ up after the last take,” Bendy drawled, dropping all of the wheezing he had affected. It was a gag, between Toon and creator, maybe not exactly that situation but the format of Bendy cracking wise while Henry was the straight man was nothing new. Not for the first time Eddie reflected on just how weird artists were.

“So, this the flatfoot who’s gonna find Alice?” Bendy said, turning his attention to Eddie and sizing him up.

“I hope so,” Henry said. “Mr. Valiant, Bendy. Bendy, Eddie Valiant.”

“Hmph,” Bendy grunted, and Eddie’s response was more or less the same. He was way too used to being around Toons.

“So, Alice Angel?” Eddie said.

“Yes, that’s right,” Henry said, sobering. “Alice has been missing for a little over a week. The last time anyone saw her was the Friday before last. Joey tried to report her missing, but New York’s Finest laughed at him.” The sarcasm was practically dripping off of Henry. Bendy murmured something about, “@#&%ing pigs,” with the sound of a bike horn. Definitely a New Yorker.

“No surprise there,” Eddie said. He held up his box of cigarettes. “Alright if I smoke?”

“Sorry, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Henry said. Eddie nodded and quietly pocketed the box. “We tried searching for her ourselves, but everyone here is so busy with work. There’s been some calls to PI’s in the area, but they didn’t want anything to do with Toons. If I’m being honest, as much as I trust Joey, I objected when he wanted to hire you, Mr. Valiant, but I think he’s panicking.”

“Well, if we’re being honest, I thought it was a little funny myself. As for your little starlet…” Eddie set his jaw. “She wouldn’t be the first to go running off into the city for a good time, but she doesn’t seem like the type. Anybody check her place?”

“Hm?” Henry blinked. “Oh, no, Alice lives here in the studio, along with Bendy and Boris.”

Well that explained some of the expansions, dorms for the Toons. It was practically unknown in Hollywood since Toontown was brought to life, and even before then it was uncommon for studios to have private housing for their ink-based stars. Toons weren’t treated well in general, but there was still some acknowledgement that they were people, human-like, and wanted to be treated like adults. Unless it was funny, of course. Hell, even Roger—

_“ACHOO!”_

The room went very still, as that had definitely not been either of the humans who had sneezed comically loudly, and Bendy wasn’t trying to use Henry’s shirt as a handkerchief, and also the sneeze had come from Eddie’s travel bag.

“I, uh, think your bag might have a cold,” Bendy drawled.

Eddie could feel his blood pressure rising. He dropped his bag unceremoniously to the floor, and the impact was accompanied by a yelp. Eddie roughly unzipped the bag, reached in to the elbow, and yanked out a Toon rabbit by the straps of his red overalls, wriggling as he tried to get free. “Oh, boy, is it stuffy in there! My ears were burning, was somebody talkin’ about me?”

“Roger!” Eddie snapped, as he lifted Roger Rabbit up so he could look him in the eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Roger rambled, oblivious to Eddie’s frustration. “Well, I heard you were going to New York, and I’ve always wanted to go to New York, so I thought, why not go see New York with my best pal? Then we can solve a case together, just like the good ol’ days!”

“’The good ol’ days?’ You mean last summer, when you were framed for murdering Marvin Acme and almost got the both of us killed?”

“Yeah, just like then!” Roger said earnestly.

Eddie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped Roger so he could rub his temples. Bendy looked excited, which couldn’t be good, and Henry was laughing. “Do I even want to know what you did with my spare clothes?” Eddie snapped.

* * *

 Meanwhile, a ten-year-old girl in Albuquerque was very confused when she unpacked her suitcase and found a pair of men’s boxers with hearts printed on them.

* * *

 “Pu-bu-bu-bu-robably not!” Roger trilled, and darted away from Eddie to avoid retaliation.

Roger stopped in front of Bendy and gasped dramatically. “Oh, boy! I never thought I’d get to meet Bendy, I just saw the last cartoon you were in! Oh, the artistry! The drama! The tragedy! It was inspired!” Roger cried, swooning.

Bendy was all too eagerly soaking up the praise. “Well, you ain’t too bad yaself, Rabbit. Put ‘er there, pal,” Bendy said. Roger happily shook his hand, and even as Roger was viciously zapped by Bendy’s joy buzzer, he shook Bendy’s hand so strongly that the little devil was lifted up off his feet and shaken up and down. By the time they were finished, Roger’s fur was singed and Bendy was dizzy and a droplet of ink fell from the edge of his widow’s peak like sweat.

“Toons,” Eddie said gruffly.

“Toons,” Henry said cheerfully.

Artists.

A knock came at the door, and a blonde kid pushed it open. “Henry, you’re needed on the sound stage. And have you seen—oh, Bendy’s right here, perfect. You should know, Mr. Drew is getting anxious.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be right there,” Henry said. “Do you mind coming downstairs, Mr. Valiant? Knowing Joey, if he doesn’t see you with his own eyes he’ll end up keeping you waiting a while.”

Eddie just gestured for Henry to lead the way.

* * *

 There was a lift to the lower floors, Henry explained, but the sound stage was only one floor down. The stairs were easier. Bendy hopped up on Henry’s shoulder and Henry didn’t even blink; Roger saw this, looked at Eddie hopefully, and Eddie ignored him.

All things considered, the studio was nothing special compared to the kinds of setups you saw in LA, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Henry spoke proudly about starting the studio with Joey Drew, creating Bendy and building the studio into a strong contender, expanding the staff to a fair size, if smaller than some other studios of the same age—coming up on fifteen years.

There was one weird thing, though.

“What’s with the pipes?” Eddie said, of the clear plexiglass pipes carrying a trickle of some dark black substance. The pipes seemed to run (and drip) everywhere in the building, from the lobby to the offices to the stairwells.

Henry didn’t even need to look to know what Eddie was talking about. “Much like your being here, a result of Joey panicking. I’m still not all that sure about it myself, I was a little distracted with a newborn, but I have my suspicions. Around that time, before Bendy became real, the studio was having some trouble. We couldn’t really keep up with the larger studios out west. I’m thinking Joey got pulled in by a conman, he was desperate but it could happen to anyone—”

Bendy cut in when it was clear Henry was going to keep rambling and making excuses. “Joey wanted to try and use some hunk-a-junk ‘Old Man-in-a-Can’ to try and make me real. Not to, uh, doubt him? But let’s just say I’m real glad Henry pulled it off before the machine ever got off the ground.”

Eddie made a sour face. “Hold on, hold on, he tried to build a machine to make Toons?”

“Well, yes,” Henry said, wincing. “Don’t get me wrong, Joey’s my best friend, but he can be a little…”

“Short-sighted. Impulsive. Dumb as a box of rocks,” Bendy said.

 _“Any_ ways! It was a mess from the beginning, but it never would have worked, Joey’s Ink Machine,” Henry said. “I saw the blueprints once, most of the writing was some nonsense scribbles. He’s embarrassed by it, really. But it’d be expensive and messy to take it all apart, it’s just been left as it is.”

“A monument to stupidity,” Bendy quipped, and Henry shook his head.

Joey Drew was even more of an eccentric than rumor claimed, then. Bringing Toons to life without needing an Old Man? He wasn’t the first person to try, but there was a reason that studios still employed Old Men. The attempts ended in spectacular failure, and the failures were well-publicized. From what Eddie knew, nobody had really tried to do it in at least ten years. The general conclusion was that it was impossible to replicate an Old Man’s power. Joey must have been _really_ desperate.

The sound stage on B1 was a raucous mess of people moving back and forth trying to get their jobs done. Above the sound crew setting up and testing mics, above artists organizing work, above the cleanup crew getting out of the way, a man’s booming voice dominated the room. “Somebody shut off that fan! I want that playback ready to go on cue this time! And where is Bendy?”

Crew moved aside as somebody pushed their way through, and there was a man Eddie recognized from his picture in the papers, looking a little red in the face from exertion and the stage lights. Joey Drew was a white man standing at about six foot tall, built sturdy. His facial hair was grown out and a little unkempt, and already light hair was shot through with gray. He had clever eyes and laugh lines.

“Finally!” Joey declared. His voice was deep and booming, filling the space he was in. He pointed a finger at Bendy as though in accusation. “Just where did you run off to? After everything that’s happened, I would think you—”

Henry grabbed Joey’s hand and forced it down. “Give it a rest, Joey. He was upstairs in my office, meeting Mr. Valiant.”

“Wait, Valiant?” Joey said, and for the first time he looked at Eddie. His face was starting to return to a healthier pallor. “Mr. Valiant!” Joey exclaimed, with no small amount of relief, and he laughed. “Goodness, I didn’t expect you here so early!” It was almost four in the afternoon. “Oh, but it is wonderful to meet you in person, put ‘er there.”

They shook hands, and Joey’s grip was firm. “Mr. Valiant, please do forgive me, but could I have just one minute and then we can go back upstairs.”

Eddie waved him along. Joey pulled Henry and Buddy up towards the sound stage, clapping Henry on the back and they chatted amiably as they went out of sight. Eddie took a few steps off to the side to lean against a wall in a mostly unoccupied corner. A janitor in denim coveralls was leaning over a trash can, rooting around in the garbage.

“Lose something?”

The janitor jumped and hit his head on the edge of the trash can and stood up straight massaging the bump. He was a young black man, in his early twenties at best. “Nope, didn’t lose nothing! I was just, uh…” He had a strong Brooklyn accent. “Definitely did not lose my keys, nosiree…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid, no skin off my nose,” Eddie said, and then he rethought it. “Just one question, though, how long have you been missing your keys?”

The janitor, his name tag said Wally, looked at Eddie funny. “Uh, I had them an hour ago? But thanks, anyways. Oh, hell, I’m outta here,” Wally said suddenly, and darted away as Joey returned.

Joey had his attention split as he opened a small vial. It looked a little like something Eddie’s girl Dolores had ordered out of the Sears catalog, some oil that was supposed to relieve stress but mostly the strong smell just gave Eddie a headache. Running a cartoon studio, though, Joey probably needed all the stress relief he could get.

Joey sniffed the contents of the vial and made a face. “Blast it, I think it’s gone bad. Mr. Valiant, does this smell like lemon to you?” Joey said as he suddenly shoved the vial in Eddie’s face. Eddie reflexively pushed it away but not fast enough to avoid catching a whiff of something that was _not_ lemon, but smelled a lot like eggs that had been rotting for months. Eddie turned away to cough and retch.

“What the hell?” Eddie spat as Joey was laughing. Roger came closer to investigate, caught the scent directly, turned green, and dropped to the floor stiff as a board clutching a drooping flower between his hands.

“Ha-ha! Oh, dear, I just couldn’t resist!” Joey said as he wiped his eyes, tearing up from laughing so hard at Eddie. Eddie just scowled at him. “Oh, don’t be like that, Mr. Valiant, it was just a joke.” He corked the vial and replaced it in his coat pocket. The smell was still present, but Joey seemed unperturbed. He tapped a finger on the side of his nose. “Can’t smell a thing, never been able to, makes the gag just a little more convincing.”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m wishing I couldn’t smell.” Eddie really had regained his sense of humor since the Acme case, but that didn’t mean he had the patience for some guy who thought that Acme Brand Stink SyrupTM was a replacement for an actual joke.

“Oh, for the love of, I’m sorry, alright? It won’t happen again,” Joey said, and to his credit he sounded pretty genuine.

“Right, well, I’d like to get to work, if you’re done playing pranks.”

“Now hold your horses, Mr. Valiant, there’s no need to be hasty. A minute one way or the other won’t make much of a difference.”

Eddie begged to differ, but made himself shut up and stay put. It was hard when Roger was standing behind Joey waggling his finger and making faces.

“There we go. Now, Mr. Valiant, tell me, have you ever seen an Old Man use their power?”

“You kiddin’? I’m from LA, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting an Old Man.”

Joey pouted at him. “Well, I personally never get tired of watching.” He turned back toward the sound stage.

The crew was settling and clearing the space, and on the sound stage Henry was with an assistant artist on one side and the director on the other, looking over a drawing done by the assistant with Henry’s guidance and input.

There were no bright colors or auditory cues when an Old Man went to work. There was just an invisible shift in the air, like the way light passing through a gap in the curtains moved across the wall. And as Henry’s eyes passed over the empty space, the image in the drawing was reproduced in three dimensions. The floor became a city street, the back wall, a store front. A couple of lamp posts, a manhole cover, the sidewalk, all of it rounded and polished and matching the style of Drew Studios’ cartoons.

So there was still some wonder at seeing drawings come to life. Everybody was watching quietly, but nobody seemed quite as happy as Henry, even after using his power so many times. It was never mundane to him, how could it be?

As it was drawn by another artist, the set would only last a couple of hours before turning to dust. Only if Henry drew it himself would it be permanent. Nobody quite knew how that power worked, but there was a consistent set of rules to how it could be used.

When the set was completed, Henry was perspiring and grinning. The page in his hand had started spontaneously leaking ink from the center out, and by the time he was done it was soaked through with black ink.

Henry took a step back, and like that, the spell was broken, and everybody went straight back to work.

Joey clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie jumped. “Alright, then, let’s get to business.”

* * *

 Joey’s office was three times the size of Henry’s, significantly more organized, with significantly fewer personal touches. The left wall had a bookshelf mostly filled with knick-knacks, and the right wall had a couple of newspaper clippings, a magazine cover, and a poster for the Butcher Gang. It was a little chilly, the vent was wide open. Eddie made Roger wait outside the office, which carried its own risks, but it was at least a calculated one.

“So, Henry already told you what’s happened?” Joey said as he stepped behind his desk.

“More or less. You want me to find Alice.”

“That’s exactly right, Mr. Valiant. It’s been madness this past week, I’m at my wit’s end. Speaking of, I really am sorry about the state I was in when you first came downstairs, it’s just been…difficult,” Joey said. “We’re all so worried about her, the police only mocked me, and I shudder to imagine what could have happened to her.”

“Mm-hm,. You gotta understand, Mr. Drew, you’re not giving me a lot to work off of here, and I can’t guarantee I’m gonna find her. It’s not easy to hurt a Toon, but it ain’t hard for a smart Toon to make themselves disappear.”

Joey shook his head. “I hope she isn’t hurt, but even if she did run away, she couldn’t possibly have done it without help.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just what I said. Alice, and Bendy and Boris as well, they’re all clever, but not particularly, what’s the word, worldly. They don’t really leave the studio very often, and when they do they usually have a chaperone, either myself or Henry.”

Eddie squinted at him. “No offense, Drew, but that’s a little funny to keep Toons locked up in a studio.”

“Not locked up, goodness!” You make it sound like they’re here against their wills!” Joey said, visibly appalled. “But, Mr. Valiant, this isn’t Los Angeles. There isn’t a haven like Toontown here in New York, but people aren’t any kinder to Toons here than they are in California. Do you recall Fleisher Studios?”

“Sure I know ‘em. Hell, my brother and I worked for ‘em once back in the day. They, uh…” Eddie frowned as he recalled the details. Had to be spring of ’42, Fleischer Studios was going defunct. The case wasn’t actually for Max Fleischer, Valiant & Valiant were hired by Betty Boop and Bingo after the couple moved to California along with some other Fleischer Bros. Toons.

Eddie wet his lips. “Right. The stalker.”

Now it was coming back to him. Betty had a stalker who had been harassing her for some six months. The creep wasn’t subtle about it, but he was a human and she was a Toon, so the NYPD would not do a think about it, and the stalker even followed Betty and Bingo all the way across the country. They had been afraid he might try to hurt one or both of them, so Teddy got Betty and Bingo safely to Toontown while Eddie waited at the motel room and gave the stalker the scare of his life. The involvement of Valiant & Valiant did not make the papers, but word of mouth still spread the story among the Toons.

“Alright, I get what you mean.”

“Thank you, Mr. Valiant,” Joey said, relaxing a little and smiling gratefully. “It’s incidents just like that one that make me fear for the safety of my Toons. They haven’t expressed any interest in living somewhere else, so I’m only too happy to let them have a home here.”

 _Persuasive guy,_ Eddie thought. “So, whether she left of her own will or not, somebody else had to be involved. That’s definitely something to look into. Still can’t guarantee anything, but I can do some digging.”

“Fantastic,” Joey said, flashing a big grin. “About your compensation, I admit that this work is a little nebulous and the time frame is going to be uncertain.”

“At least a couple days.”

“I thought as much. We’ll stick with the daily rate we agreed upon plus expenses, yes? You do have a reputation for results, and for being a man of strong morals, so I think I can trust that you won’t sit back and do nothing.”

This was already going better than Eddie feared it would. “That sounds damn fair, Mr. Drew.”

And they shook on the agreement.

“So Alice lives here in the studio, but does she have any friends outside of it?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know, I speak with her less than I would like,” Joey said, as he went to write out a check for the first day of work.

“Then who would know?”

“Well, Henry is certainly closest with the Toons,” Joey said. “But he’s a tad busy at the moment, and rather worn out. Otherwise, she spends quite a bit of time around our Music Director, Sammy Lawrence. You’re welcome to speak to him, the lift can take you down to level B4. I only ask that you avoid going into sound stage while it is in use. Level C is under construction but the button on the lift is disabled anyways. And there is one room on this level you will pass on the way to the lift, it’s boarded up, but that is the site of a, eh, project that didn’t work out.”

“The Ink Machine?”

Joey’s lip curled. “So, Henry told you about that, did he? Wonderful. Nevertheless, I recommend staying clear. And that goes double for Roger. The last thing I need is Disney on me, on top of everything else.”

That, at least, Eddie could understand.

When Eddie went to leave, he was relieved to find Roger was just where he left him, now chatting with that same janitor from downstairs. Wally wasn’t doing his job in the slightest, but was leaning on his mop with the bucket left right where somebody could step in it.

“Wally! Perfect timing!” Joey boomed, and Wally nearly fell over in surprise, stood upright, and grinned. “You can show Mr. Valiant—”

“Show him the door! On it, boss!” Wally said, dropping his mop and pushing his sleeves up.

“Show him the _lift_ , Wally!” Joey interjected.

“Show him the lift! On it, boss!” Wally said in the same tone, fixing his sleeves and adjusting his cap.

Joey clapped his hands together. “Well, Mr. Valiant, on behalf of every one of my employees, I wish you could luck. I believe in you, Eddie, and with the power of belief, nothing is impossible.” He was beaming, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

Eddie nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Let’s get going, Roger.”

The door closed loudly behind them.

* * *

 “So, you find your keys?” Eddie said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Wally said, and kept on walking as he fished out a keyring and jangled it. Roger was intensely fascinated by the keys. “And now I get why you were so curious about when I lost ‘em, if they’d been lost a while somebody might’ve used them to break in.”

“Smart kid,” Eddie said dryly. It really had been his concern.

“Don’t think it’s that much. Aw, geez, Eddie Valiant. My aunt’s wild about that true crime stuff. Uh! Not that I’m gonna mention anything about it until _after_ you’re done,” Wally added quickly. Again, smarter than some of the people Eddie had worked for in the past. “You _are_ here to find Alice, right? She’s quite a gal, just hope she’s alright.”

Wally took Eddie down a hall, past administrative offices, and down a small flight of stairs to a break room. In the back corner was the lift Joey told him about.

“Hey, so, I couldn’t help but overhear a little,” Wally said. “You’re gonna go talk to Mr. Lawrence?”

“’Overheard,’ huh?” Eddie said doubtfully. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” Wally crossed his arms and slouched. “Sammy’s pretty much always angry at everybody, and it’s easy to cheese him off. He’s just damn good at makin’ music so everybody puts up with him. But, if you want to start out on his good side, offer him a cigarette. He’ll probably turn you down, but he’ll be a little easier to talk to.”

And that was why you were polite to the janitors: they had the dirt on everyone. “Offer him a cigarette, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, kid.”

“Yeah, well, no problem, Mr. Valiant,” Wally said. He held out his hand. Eddie frowned, but he shook the proffered hand. “Good luck finding Alice.”

“…Yeah.”

Weird kid, but Eddie had met weirder in just the last hour. Eddie pushed his hands into his pockets.

* * *

The lift was a little rickety and very slow, but better than too fast. Eddie pulled the grate shut, and Roger insisted on pushing the button, but at least he didn’t push all the buttons.

As the lift slowly descended, Eddie lit a cigarette. He set his jaw, and noticed Roger looking at him eagerly. “What?”

“I know _that_ face, that’s the Eddie Valiant Thinkin’ Face!”

The worst part was that Roger wasn’t wrong. He really had been thinking.

Eddie tapped his cigarette and said, “You ever see an Old Man work, Roger?”

Roger perked up. “Oh, sure plenty of times! Not as much at Disney, but at Maroon Cartoons, all the time!”

“So, you know what it looks like and you saw when Henry made the set a bit ago. You notice anything weird about it?”

“Huh, weird?” Roger said, and he tapped his chin in thought. “Well, now that you mention it…” He tilted his head to the side. “I ain’t never seen an animator get so tired after Old-Manning. It’s usually easy for ‘em, right? But Henry looked like he was gonna pass out by the end of it.”

Ignoring the interesting turn of phrase, Eddie nodded. “What else?”

“Uh, oh, yeah, and the paper he was using!” Roger exclaimed. “It got all gross and inky, made a whole big mess! I’ve never seen anything like that happen before?”

“Me neither. I already felt like something was up, but now I’m sure of it.” Eddie pulled out the paper that Wally had quietly given him while they shook hands and held the note up to Roger. “Something stinks at this studio.”

Written in a heavy hand were the words:

**DON’T TRUST JOEY DREW**


	2. Daddy's Little Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so overwhelmed by the positive response to the first chapter, thanks so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos. Big shoutout to BrownieFox for their fanart [here](http://browniefox.tumblr.com/post/174362607476/just-your-average-every-day-old-man-absolutely) of Henry as he appears in this fic.

* * *

 

**From the Case Files of George K. Fowler, Office of Extranormal Affairs**

_February, 1942: Drew Studio's Head Animator Henry Hoskins becomes the first Old Man to work for the studio, discovering his power when he brings his character, Bendy the Dancing Demon, to life. After several years of struggling to stay afloat, public interest in Bendy cartoons reignites, and by the end of the year two other major stars of the Bendy cartoons, Alice Angel and Boris the Wolf, are also brought to life._

 

The lift slowly came to a stop at B4. Eddie pocketed Wally’s note and pulled the bars aside with a grunt.

The first thing they noticed was the ink. It was _everywhere._ The pipes upstairs had only a little ink flowing in them, barely more than a trickle, but down here on the lowest occupied level, they were filled with ink and severely needed maintenance. Ink dripped from loose fittings, and stains on the walls suggested that it had actually flooded, up to two feet deep. There were puddles on the floor, including immediately outside the elevator doors. Eddie had gotten worse things on his shoes, but he still wasn’t happy with it.

Roger summed up the general mood with an over-dramatic, “Eeee-yuck!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said dismissively.

The music department was more or less empty, but as creepy as it was, at least it made it easier to find the music director’s office. From a ways off, they could hear a piano playing. Eddie strode forth, as Roger danced around the ink puddles.

“Geez, so that’s what smells around here, it’s all ink,” Roger said.

Eddie nodded. He had come to the same conclusion, but there was also something else. He didn’t say so to Roger, because he himself didn’t quite know how to describe it. It reminded him of the smell of alcohol, but it didn’t smell like alcohol at all.

 _“Can I get an amen in here!”_ sang a man, passionate and loud to the beat of the music.

The door to the practice room was open; Eddie stepped just inside the room, where a human man of mixed race played the piano accompanying a Toon, Boris the Wolf.

 _“Ain’t it nice to be underground with a good old friend like me!”_ Boris sang, in a strong, gravelly voice, and the human sang harmonies, _“A friend like me, yeah.”_ _“So you notice that sign we ain’t lyin’, but sit down and take a seat. There’s an exit for sure, but that’s for shmucks! With a little bit of ink and a couple of bucks, we can reopen the curtains and show off the strut, but for goodness sake—you gotta just believe!”_

The pianist cut it short at the end of the verse, and made a conductor’s gesture in the air to signal a stop. “Well, it only took seven times through but we’re getting somewhere.” He made a note on his sheet music, and was purposefully ignoring Eddie, but it wasn’t so easy for him to ignore Boris, who had cocked his head and looked hopeful. “Alright, alright. Eugh.” With great reluctance he patted Boris on the head.

Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m lookin’ for Mr. Lawrence?”

“Good for you.”

“Listen, wise guy—”

“Nah, how about _you_ listen, _wise guy,_ ” Sammy shot back, looking at Eddie like he was the bane of his existence. “I don’t know who the hell you are or what you want, you can just get out of my music department.”

“Name’s Valiant, I’m looking for Alice Angel,” Eddie tried.

“She’s not here,” Sammy said.

Eddie was going to strangle this guy. Fortunately for Sammy, Eddie got distracted by Boris perking up at the mention of Alice. “Yeah, you heard right, I’m lookin’ into it. Don’t suppose you can give me anything helpful?”

Boris considered it, then shrugged.

“Hmph. So he always like this?” Eddie said, gesturing towards Sammy and getting a dirty look.

Boris made a corkscrew motion next to his head and rolled his eyes, held up two fingers, and pointed a thumb at Sammy, then at the piano.

“No kiddin’?”

Boris scratched his head then snapped his fingers. His eyes went x’ed out, he turned entirely white with black outlines, and he collapsed onto the piano, draped across it dramatically.

Eddie looked at Sammy expectantly, and Sammy glared back at him. “What?”

“You heard the pup, huh?” Eddie said. “Last he saw Alice, she was down here with you, recording some music. Got anything to say about that?”

“How did you…” Sammy started, looking from Eddie to Boris. He shook his head. “Y’know what, no, no. Look, between everyone coming down here telling me how to do my job and the ink _everywhere_ , I have enough on my plate. Music doesn’t exactly write itself, you know. So I’ll tell you the same thing I told Joey when he interrogated everyone on his payroll—how could I possibly benefit from kidnapping Alice?”

“I dunno, but who said anything about kidnapping?”

Sammy gave him a sour look.

Eddie casually got out a cigarette as he spoke, tapping it free of the box and pretending to search his pockets for his lighter. “Mr. Lawrence, I don’t see why we can’t agree on this. You want to do your work, but how can you do that if one of the studio’s stars is missing? And that’s just my job: finding Alice Angel. I’m not accusing you of anything, but I would like to ask you a few questions. Cigarette?” he said, and held out the box.

Sammy narrowed his eyes at Eddie. “No thank you,” he said. He grunted as he turned himself around on the bench to face Eddie. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the bench.

“Were you the last person to see her before she disappeared?” Eddie said. He fidgeted with the unlit cigarette as he talked.

“Yeah. I left here at about eight on Friday night.”

“Pretty late night, but I guess that’s just showbiz. You notice anything strange about her behavior?”

“Nope.” Sammy went on tapping his fingers along the piano bench.

“Mr. Drew told me that Alice wouldn’t be ‘worldly’ enough to run away without somebody else helping her. Do you know anyone outside the studio, friends of Alice’s, who she might have gotten help from, if she did run away?”

Sammy frowned and thought. “Don’t know why she’d ‘run away,’ and there aren’t a lot of people.” He leaned forward and sighed. “Well, it’s a stretch, but there’s her voice actress, Allison Pendle. I think she lives down in Manhattan, hell if I know the address. About once a year she comes by ‘cause her royalty check never came in the mail.”

Just as there was still business for traditional animators to make shorts with one-off characters, there was still business for voice actors in bit parts and rising stars. A few years back Warner Brothers had tried stiffing Mel Blanc, the man of a thousand voices himself, after the characters he voiced were brought to life. The ensuing court case, Blanc v. Warner, affirmed that a voice could be trademarked, and that gave rise to an industry standard of paying royalties to actors for use of their voice.

Sammy quietly took out his own cigarettes and stuck one between his teeth. He lit it with a classy sterling silver zippo lighter, easily worth more than the rest of his ink-stained clothes and worn shoes. Sammy took a moment to enjoy his tobacco before returning his attention to Eddie. “But if we’re talking about suspicious characters, there’s one other lady you might want to look into. Joey doesn’t like people talking about her, hell if I know why, but her name is Susie Campbell.”

At the name, Boris whined. Sammy rolled his eyes. “Campbell used to be a voice actress, too, and she was the first person cast to voice Alice.”

“Is that so?”

“Didn’t take it so well when the Angel got recast. Didn’t know how bad until she broke into the studio one night and trashed a couple offices. Joey got her hauled off to Bellevue real quick after that.” He absently fiddled with his lighter. “Looking back on it, she was a little, uh, ‘possessive’ of the character.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s still locked up, this all happened five-six years ago. But if she ever got released, if anyone’s involved with strange events surrounding Alice Angel, it’d be her. And knowing Joey, he’s too caught up in himself to check her out.”

Eddie nodded. “I’ll look into it. If there’s nothing else that might help—” Sammy shrugged and shook his head. “—then I just got one other question for you.”

Sammy straightened in his seat and smoked his cigarette, and Eddie felt like Sammy was judging him. For what, he didn’t know.

“You’ve made some comments that sure make it seem like you don’t like him. My question is, do you trust Joey Drew?”

Sammy raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “You know anyone who likes their boss? You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in this studio who ‘likes’ Joey—barring Henry—but somehow he’s kept this madhouse going through good times and bad. I’ll never understand how he does it, but I just write the music.” He exhaled a stream of smoke. “I’ll trust him to do his job and keep this studio running.”

* * *

 

Sherry the Receptionist wasn’t allowed to pull the addresses Eddie wanted without her boss’s express permission, and for some godforsaken reason Joey had already left for the day. His exhausted protests that it wasn’t even five didn’t do anything to change the situation.

When he didn’t think anybody was around, Eddie pushed on the door of Joey’s office, but despite being a space case Joey had remembered to lock his door.

If he wasn’t going to be able to follow up on those leads today, then he still wanted to accomplish something. He followed the pipes on the ceiling to their source, a boarded-up doorway that was completely impassible. Trying to pull down a board enough to even take a peek at this mysterious Ink Machine would make a racket enough to draw somebody’s attention.

Roger was wound tightly with anxiety. “Jeepers, it’s real creepy back here. C’mon, Eddie, let’s go back.” There was a metallic noise from the wall, probably a water pipe, and Roger jumped a little. His teeth were chattering and his ears were getting twisted up.

Eddie tried again to see if any of the boards were loose and clicked his tongue with disappointment. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, kid,” Eddie said.

Roger only barely waited up long enough for Eddie to catch up, stepping over the massive pipe running across the floor, cursing when he noticed a spot of ink on his coat and rubbing at it despite knowing it would never come out. He wasn’t paying attention as he turned the blind corner, and—

“You know, they say wanderin’s a terrible sin.” Bendy stood there in the hallway, his usual grin on his face. He was examining his nonexistent nails and leaning against a cardboard cutout of himself—nearly twice his real height—that had not been there before. Eddie couldn’t really consider why Bendy was moving around a cutout because Roger had leaped onto him.

Eddie grunted as he tried to extricate himself from Roger’s hold. “Where’d you hear that line, kid?”

“Any reason you’re so curious about the Ink Machine, flatfoot?” Bendy said.

“Just curious,” Eddie lied. “But since you’re here, I wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

Bendy laughed ironically, and then he did a double take. “Wait, you were serious? I don’t know anything anybody else couldn’t tell you.”

“Then you won’t mind me asking, eh?” Eddie said. “D’you know what happened to Alice?”

Bendy looked at Eddie like he was an idiot. “If I knew where Alice was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, buddy!” Eddie was quickly learning that Bendy was a lot more sarcastic in person than he was in the cartoons. In the cartoons Bendy was a slapstick character, most of the time he ended up as somebody else’s (usually Boris’s) punching bag, and he never actually spoke in the cartoons, to boot.

“Gotta make sure,” Eddie said. “She seem any different from usual the day she disappeared?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You and your coworkers live here in the studio?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you close with Boris and Alice?”

“Sure, we’re friends. It’s funny, yaknow, people think that me ‘n’ Boris would be at each other’s throats, but me an’ him are best buddies. We just follow the script.” It was the same as Roger and Baby Herman. They were two parts of a comedic duo, not rivals.

“And how do the humans around here treat you?”

“They’re alright. Best as you can get, I figure.”

“What about Henry?”

“Well, it’s not fair to compare the rest of them to Henry,” Bendy said like it was obvious. “Look, the rest of the humans here leave us alone, and I’m pretty much alright with that. But from day one, Henry’s never been anything but good to us Toons.”

“What about Joey?”

There, Bendy froze. Eddie felt a little bad for lulling Bendy into a sense of security, but that reaction was what he was looking for. Bendy shifted his weight. “Well, uh…y’know, Joey’s a busy guy. He doesn’t have time to pal around. He’s a busy guy.”

“Right. I can tell by how he left before 4.”

“Look, why’s this even matter, flatfoot? It’s got nothin’ to do with Alice. Whatever, just do your job.” And with that, Bendy grabbed the cutout (really, why did he have that?) and dragged it behind as he left before Eddie could get another word in.

Eddie adjusted his hat. “Right.” As interesting as that was, he couldn’t follow up on anything until he could get those addresses, and from the sounds of it, that wouldn’t be until the next morning. He had a long night of a whole lot of nothing ahead of him.

* * *

 

It had been a long and difficult day, but it was going to be alright. Joey said Alice would be alright, and for all of his faults, Joey always came through on his promises. Henry was almost calm coming home that day, for the first time in a week. It was only 6 o’ clock when he stepped in the house, doffed his hat, and started unbuttoning his jacket.

Even as he did so, a ball of energy in a blue dress came whirling into the entrance hall and clung to his leg saying, “Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy—” over and over again, took a deep breath, and continued as he pulled his jacket off and hung it up on the hook. Henry finally looked down to the little girl latched onto him. “Yes?”

“Hi,” Beth said, and she smiled to show the gap where her two front teeth had been.

“Goodness” Henry said, as he scooped Beth up and scrutinized her. “What happened to your teeth?”

“I lost them,” she said. She had a little bit of a lisp.

“What’s that mean? Haven’t you looked for them?”

“Noooo, I know where they are!”

“Then where are they? Did the dog take them?”

“Noooo, Cerberus didn’t take them!” she said, pronouncing it as ‘Therberuth.’ “Momma has them!”

“Well, I guess we’d better go ask momma to give them back, shouldn’t we? Hup!” Henry tucked Beth under his arm like one would carry a bundle of firewood, and she squealed in delight.

‘Momma’ was a cooking dinner when they swept into the kitchen, the dog running in from the other room and nipping at Henry’s heels. Linda was beautiful, elegant, patient, and kind. Both Linda and Henry were first generation Americans, the children of immigrants. His parents were from Estonia, while hers were from Puerto Rico. They shared their artistic bent, though Linda preferred to paint in watercolors and held private piano lessons.

“Well, well, you weren’t kidding when you said you would be home at a regular hour,” she said, and it was a little teasing, but they had gone through a rough patch when Beth was still in diapers, Henry said he would be home by six and he didn’t come in the door until well after nine. That sort of thing happened a few times before they talked about it. He didn’t lie, exactly, he was just terrible at keeping track of the time. So, he wore his father-in-law’s old watch, and told Linda when they were getting into crunch time. If she knew he would be home late, it was easier.

They shared a chaste kiss, and Beth, still under Henry’s arm, protested loudly. Henry thought himself the luckiest man alive.

Dinner was a simple affair with just the three of them, the conversation little more than mindless chatter about the news and Beth’s daily activities.

* * *

“Daddy!”

Henry startled at Beth’s alarming tone, sitting up straight with a jolt. “What, what is it?” he said, every stupid worry running through his head at once.

But Beth was just standing at the side of his chair, Linda had started to rise from her seat on the other side of the kitchen table, and both were looking at him, concerned.

“We were calling you,” Linda said quietly. “You didn’t even seem to hear us, are you alright?”

Henry frowned and pushed his hand through his hair as he thought. “I…” He laughed nervously. “I must be more tired than I thought.”

Linda pursed her lips. “Baby girl, can you go check on Cerberus? He’s been a little quiet, I’m worried he might have gotten into something.”

Beth pouted, but she knew better than to argue. When Linda and Henry were alone, Linda sighed. “You’re worrying us, you know that? You’re worrying our daughter.”

Henry had started rubbing his temples, trying to massage away the blooming headache. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

“Sure seems like you’re always tired.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“This isn’t funny. Were you lying to me when you said you were going to take it easier?”

“No, no, I wasn’t lying, but—” Linda gave him a sharp look and Henry winced. “The situation’s changed! I just can’t help but be a little stressed, but this detective is going to find Alice, and then things will go back to normal, really.”

“I hope you’re right.” She reached across the table and took his hands in her own. “How is everyone?”

“Same as usual, just trying to do their jobs.” He knew who she meant when she said ‘everyone.’ “Ben and Bo are keeping it together, but you know how they are. Real world problems are still a little…beyond them, sometimes. I’m worried about them.”

Linda hummed. “I know you are. I hope this detective knows what he’s doing.”

“I think so. He’s, uh…” Henry had a hint of a smile. “His partner is a Toon.”

“I—wait, what?”

Henry’s explanation was interrupted by claws on linoleum and Beth screeching at the dog to put her shoe down. The dog came skittering into the kitchen, slammed into a cabinet and bounced off, and as Beth came after the dog he tried to fake her out, but she lunged and grabbed the collar.

Cerberus still tried to run, and his collar streeeeetched out like it was made of elastic before snapping back, throwing him into Beth’s arms, and the pilfered shoe flew out of his mouth, flew back over Beth’s head and hit Henry in the face. Linda covered her mouth with her hands to hold back laughter and Beth chided, “Bad dog!”

Superficially, Cerberus looked like some kind of mastiff or rottweiler puppy, but anyone who looked at the pup could see that it was a Toon. If not odd proportions or natural inclination for gags, then the tiny horns on his head or the little batlike wings on his back. Beth was smart, but she still didn’t really understand why Cerberus was so odd. As far as she was concerned, he was no different from Bendy or Boris or Alice; she created Cerberus because she thought Bendy needed a buddy to protect him from the monsters that liked to hurt him in the cartoons.

With her dad's help, Beth drew her character again and again, and then one day it was like a lightbulb went off in her head. She wanted Cerberus to be real, so she made him real. Nevermind that she was only five years old, when no other Old Man had ever shown his power before their twenties. Her mom said Beth was a 'praw-di-gee'.

Her dad’s friend Joey said that she was special, but as far as Beth figured, she was just like her dad. She could draw like her dad and play music like her mom, and that was a pretty good deal.


End file.
